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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26582278">Mors Mihi Lucrum</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andrina_Nightshade/pseuds/Andrina_Nightshade'>Andrina_Nightshade</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternative Universe - Roman mythology, Ben as a gladiator, Blood and Violence, Cunnilingus, F/M, Happily Ever After, Love Confessions, No Pregnancy, Rey as the goddess Mercury, Sex, Woman on Top, but some angst along the way!, but this is an afterlife fic, flagrant disregard for multiple aspects of Roman mythology, implied bisexual Ben, major character death in the first scene, mentions of previous sexual experiences for both</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:22:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,141</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26582278</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andrina_Nightshade/pseuds/Andrina_Nightshade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The gladiator Kylo Ren is dead. The goddess Mercury (or Rey, to her friends) prepares to escort him the Underworld.</p><p>Who said death was necessarily the end?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Mors Mihi Lucrum</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rey_Lo/gifts">Rey_Lo</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello all!</p><p>Based on the prompt “Mercury” from @reylomicrofics. I took the idea, and ran with it in an insanely different direction (and once again, it got out of control, and here we are with a one-shot instead). Featuring an extreme bastardisation of Roman mythology.</p><p>Title comes from the Latin phrase “Death to me is reward”, loosely derived from a quote from St Paul's Epistle to the Philippians. </p><p>I haven’t forgotten about any of my WIPs... But the combination of a house move and a broken laptop meant that September was a slow writing month - although hopefully we'll have a last minute burst of energy!</p><p>For Rey_Lo - this was meant to be out in time for your birthday… I hope you will accept this as a slightly belated gift! Thank you for your ongoing support, encouragement and friendship.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He had been so tantalisingly close to freedom - but a single fight away from earning the rudis; and consigning the years of blood and sweat and jeers of the arena to nightmares. What followed would not necessarily have been an easy life, but it would have been his.</p><p>Now, that dream will never see its fruition.</p><p>Disappointment is almost as excruciating as the sting of the blade twisting in his chest. Each breath is bloodied and agonising. Stifling his moans is hard; but he will not afford his killer the satisfaction.</p><p>Blood pounds in his ears, along with the whoops and applause of the crowd as they cheer the Celtic gladiator who has slain him and his dreams of freedom. Overheard, the sun burns in his eyes before the world is plunged into darkness.</p><p>Kylo Ren welcomes the end.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>And soon, pain is naught but a memory. </p><p>A lightness envelopes him, even here in the embrace of death. A voice, indistinct but soft and rich as honey, calls his name. Not the false name that Snoke had bestowed upon him during his enslavement, the name bloodthirsty crowds had chanted, but his true name. </p><p><em> Ben </em>...</p><p>He has not been called Ben Solo in so many years. </p><p>It feels welcoming.</p><p>It feels like coming home.</p><p>Once, before the fall and disgrace of his house, before he had been chained and forced to labour and fight, more tool than man, he had been a scholar. He knows the tales of the gods, and the stories of what awaits at the end of one's heartbeat. </p><p>The messenger god Mercury will come to collect his soul, and escort him to the ferryman.</p><p>During his years as a gladiator, Ben Solo has provided enough souls for Mercury to fetch. Now, it is his turn. He had hoped - a foolish one, perhaps - that his own soul would be collected from his bed in his old age, nestled in warmth and comfort and <em> love </em>. Not from the dirt and blood of the gladiatorial arena.</p><p>But that wish is of no consequence now. The time for hope, and even pain and punishment,  is long passed.</p><p>So Ben Solo opens his eyes.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Mercury is far, <em> far </em>different from what Ben could have imagined.</p><p>Oh, the messenger god is clad still in the white robes and winged boots of every temple statue Ben has ever seen. </p><p>But all of these depictions got one thing very wrong.</p><p>For the figure standing over him is in fact a <em> goddess </em>. One with freckles and soft hazel eyes and dimples in her smile. Instead of a helm she wears a circlet of golden laurel leaves in her elaborately braided hair.</p><p>“Welcome Ben Solo,” she murmurs, her every syllable a song in his heart. “Your suffering is finally at its end.” Her hand, small and warm as sunlight, comes to his face and removes his helmet. Warm knuckles brush over his cheek.</p><p>Ben blinks. His mouth is strangely dry at the sight of her. Not just because she is beautiful - her smile is soft but with the merest hint of mischief - but because he has no idea how one ought to address a goddess. <em> Your worshipness </em> sounds insincere even in his own mind. Goddess too. He has addressed the entirety of the <em> Dii Consentes </em>, and some of the lesser gods too, in prayer and worship. But face to face, able to gauge her reaction, able to feel her wrath sould he misspeak? None of his scrolls or study had prepared him for this.</p><p>When several moments have passed in silence, a single croaked word escapes his lips. “Mercury?”</p><p>She sighs, a resigned sound. Perhaps this reaction is a regular occurance for her.  “Indeed.”</p><p>“Oh,” he cringes. What a fool he must sound, standing before the very goddess of eloquence herself. </p><p>“Allow me to summarise the next part to save time,” she says, although there is less frustration and far more teasing in her tone than Ben had expected. “Yes, I am Mercury - although only my father uses that name.” She speaks of Jove, the king of the gods, with the same filial exasperation Ben had once used for his own father. The notion is simultaneously thrilling and jarring. “Everyone else here calls me Rey. Yes, I am female. Yes, you are dead, and we have a journey to partake. Does this satisfy your curiosity?”</p><p>He nods. His tongue loosens. “And, may I call you Rey?”</p><p>That dazzling smile again. “Of course you may.” Her hand falls away from his face, and he almost whines at the loss of her touch. But then she threads her fingers through his, and pulls him to stand.</p><p>It is only them that Ben registers his surroundings. A field of flowers, far as the eye can see, all tall grass interspersed with blossoms of every colour. Their perfumes fill the air, and the scent is almost drugging. How long since he has seen greenery or beauty? All he has known these last years are dust and sweat and blood and the stench of human filth. There is no beauty in the life of a gladiator. He feels almost giddy at the simplicity of it all.</p><p>The goddess’ warm hand in his, they walk through the field. The sun sparkles overheard, and its rays kiss his skin, warm and gentle.</p><p>So many more questions tease his lips. About what awaits beyond the ferryman. About the secrets of the stars. About the great gods and heroes of myth.</p><p>About <em> her </em>.</p><p>How long passes, Ben does not know. The field seems to stretch on for an eternity, and at first, he is happy to quieten his curiosity and enjoy this companionable silence with her.</p><p>But the goddess - <em> Rey </em>- suddenly stops. She turns to face him, and grasps his free hand. </p><p>“I wanted you to emerge the victor of that fight, Ben,” she says, and her tone is hard as flint. These words do not feel like idle chatter or flattery, for her eyes are earnest. “Your life has been nothing but suffering, and I wanted you to win your freedom.” Her hand rises to his cheek, and those gentle fingers caress the scar that runs from his brow to shoulder. He had been lucky not to lose his eye in that fight.</p><p>“But I am free now,” he says, and there is no lingering bitterness. Regret, pain all died with his earthly body. Here, on the fields of Elysium, they have no consequence and no place. There is only him, and her.</p><p><em> Until the final stage of his journey, </em> a rational part of Ben reminds himself.</p><p>Rey shakes her head. The sunlight captures every red and golden highlight in her locks. How his fingers itch to unwind the braids beneath her helmet and lose himself in those beautiful locks...</p><p>“I wanted you to be free in life,” she says. “You had so many dreams, let all you lived were nightmares. I wanted you to know beauty again.”</p><p>“I have beauty now,” he says, and wonders if he has been too forward. A blush stains her cheeks - so unbelievably <em> ordinary </em>that his heart would constrict with fondness if it still beat. This moment is so close to the fantasies he clung to in his bed those painful, lonely years. A lush green landscape, with a wife by his side and perhaps even a child. A life free from the lashings of Snoke's whip, from swords and armour and pain. Free from killing and guilt. Free from degradation.</p><p><em> Peace </em>. That was all Ben Solo ever wanted. Had his freedom been earned, whilst he might never have returned to the scholarly pursuits of his boyhood, he had hoped to find gainful employment as a free man: a clerk, a shepherd, anything to fill his purse with coins and put food in his belly and a shelter over his head. Either would have been the most joyous of bounties after his time as a gladiator.</p><p>Those dreams are dust now. But he will not allow regret to taint a moment of his time here, with the goddess still clasping his hand in her own. Ben shakes his head, a few locks falling into his eyes. “You take such an interest in all mortals?”</p><p>She snorts. “Will you think me terrible if I admit that I don’t care horse shit for most of them?” He chuckles - beneath this beautiful maid is a wild, almost feral creature. Ordinary and astounding in equal measure; every time he has a grasp on who she is, her mood shifts and another facet is revealed. His beautiful, mercurial goddess… </p><p>
  <em> Rey.  </em>
</p><p>Then, the world shifts with her next words. “But you... I cared about what happened to you.”</p><p>He flushes scarlet to the tips of his ears, and tears his gaze frm, hers. She too looks away, and drops his hand. “I suppose I have kept you amply supplied with souls to escort these past years.” And now guilt returns, stinging and twisting in his chest.</p><p>Rey folds her arms over his chest. “Perhaps, but do not mistake my meaning behind your regrets, Ben Solo. My interest in you long predates your time in the gladiatorial arena. And, even when you were forced to deal death, it was never done with wanton cruelty or malice. You never allowed your opponents to suffer.” Her mouth hardens, and he sees a storm in her eyes. “A mercy that was not granted to you.”</p><p>She gestures for him to sit, and together they sink into the grass. The ground is soft beneath his bare knees, and he almost moans from the sensation. </p><p>How many years since he had enjoyed such a simple pleasure?</p><p>Rey’s hand reaches for his, and she rubs a thumb over his knuckles - their bruises now healed. “I have watched you your entire life, Ben Solo.”</p><p>What has he done to earn her regard, he wonders? He had worshipped her no different from the other gods, made no special entreaties or favours to her. He was no devoted priest to her.</p><p>“But... why?”</p><p>She shrugs.  “Every so often, a mortal catches my interest. Because they are talented, or interesting. In your case, it was your spirit - it shines, brighter than any star in the sky. You suffered but you never lost hope. I admired that fire within you.” She bites her lip. “And perhaps it helped that you are so very beautiful to look at.”</p><p>Ben scoffs. He is far from beautiful - mismatched features with none of the delicacy of his mother’s face nor the rugged handsomeness of his father. His body is a patchwork of scars, a tangible reminder of all he has done and all that has been wrought upon him.</p><p>Rey makes an offended huff in response. “You would do well, mortal, not to question the word of a goddess. If I call you beautiful, then you are beautiful.” Her eyes are half-lidded. One hand rises to his cheek, and her knuckles graze the skin before she leans in to seal her mouth over his.</p><p>She kisses softly. She kisses with bruising intensity. She kisses him with everything in between, until he feels like he could float away.</p><p>She kisses him until his lungs burn for air - and what a notion, that even in death he can hunger for breath.</p><p>When they break their kiss, a predatory smile paints her lips. “I have wanted to do that for so long.” Her eyes darken. “Every time I watched another touch you, I wanted to tear their throat out. Men, women... you were not theirs to touch. You belong to <em> me </em>.”</p><p>Ben ought to bristle at her possessive tone. After half a lifetime of enslavement, it should chill him that even in death he has a master. But, as she tugs him to the grass to settle his body atop hers, he knows she is right.</p><p>He had drawn comfort in the bodies of others to fill the emptiness, to numb himself to pain. But the real balm his soul needed is here, with the goddess Mercury.</p><p><em> Rey </em>. His mouth cradles her name.</p><p>“Forgive me,” he says, trailing kisses down her jaw and throat, her skin like heated silk. He feels the reverberations of her sighs against his lips. “I had no wish to make you jealous.”</p><p>“A goddess is never jealous,” she almost snarls, before claiming his lips in another bruising kiss. “For you were always destined to be mine, Ben Solo. Eternity and time mean nothing to one such as me - but the years I have spent watching you from afar, unable to intervene, have been <em> torture. </em>But, at the end, I would always have you.”</p><p>Questing fingers attack his armour, allowing it to melt from his skin. And then he is nude before her. But the last vestiges of his years in the arena still linger even as he is divested of his armaments. Too many scars riddle his flesh. A story of pain and punishment is etched onto his body.</p><p>But as she pushes him to the ground, and learns each mark with tender fingers and lips, his body knows only pleasure. </p><p>Suddenly, she withdraws, and his flesh feels cold without her. </p><p>Breath stills in his chest as she rips off her belt and shoes, before slowly peeling those snow-white robes from her flesh. Her body is art, more beautiful than any mosaic or statue, than any sunset or rainbow. </p><p>Ben cannot help but stare in wonder. A flush creeps over her face, her chest... An actual goddess, yet she blushes as any woman would.</p><p>He has never been so aroused. </p><p>She clambours into his lap, and he hisses as his cock, achingly hard and pathetically eager, brushes against the soft skin of her thighs.</p><p>But he means to take his time; if time has any meaning here on the path to eternity. Rey is a goddess, and he will worship her as she deserves.</p><p>His fingers tremble as brushes them over her nipple, watches it pucker in response to his touch. He licks the sweat from her skin, and caresses her breasts with his lips and tongue as she writhes above him, his name falling from her lips in breathy moans. Each one is a benediction. What other sounds could he pluck from her?</p><p>Beneath the soft swell of her breasts, her muscles are hard. A princess and a warrior.  A maiden and a vixen. She is a contradiction and he wants to learn every one.</p><p>Once he has learned every inch of her torso with his lips, Ben lowers her to the grass. Her eyes - those soft hazel eyes - are now dark as midnight, and lust burns in them like a fire. None, be they man or woman, could inflame him like this.</p><p>Her legs part and he settles between them. Perhaps she can feel the quiver in his fingers as he reaches down and touches her slick folds. </p><p>If this is to be their only time together, he wants to wring every last drop of pleasure from her. Sustain forever without her.</p><p>He tastes the slick skin between her legs. In those salacious scrolls that his mother would have been mortified to know he had read, and his father bemused, a poet once described a woman’s essence as tasting of honey. That had never been his previous experience. But here, with <em> her </em>... she tastes of ambrosia, and it only makes it so much easier to worship her with eager lips and tongue. Every moan and sigh of his name is the greatest reward. Long fingers entangle in his hair and she drags him closer, greedy for more.</p><p>He, Ben Solo, can inflame a goddess with touch alone.</p><p>Her back arches, and a cry rents the air as she peaks. The sound is music. It is beautiful. And it is all <em> his </em>doing.</p><p>Ben pulls his face away, only to find himself sprawled upon his back in the grass.</p><p>Her braids are askew, and she unwinds them before bending down to kiss him. Her hair is a curtain blocking out the world. Their kiss is messy, all teeth and tongues and stolen breaths. She must taste herself upon, but she drinks as eagerly from his lips as he had from her.</p><p>When they part, her eyes are aflame. “Do you want me still?” she asks, low and sultry.</p><p>A nod is the only response he can give, too drunk on the pleasure of her skin against his.</p><p>Her hand grasps his cock, and guides it into her.</p><p>An inhuman sound escapes him as she sinks onto him. She braces her palms against his chest, and no sooner has he caught his breath than she begins to rock back and forth, tearing such exquisite pleasure from him.</p><p>The pace she sets is punishing; he will not last. But the mere sight of Rey, his perfect, divine goddess, writhing above him and moaning his name as she consumes his senses and fills him with burning pleasure, is enough.</p><p>An inelegant cry, and Ben is spent. He rolls them over and they lie side by side in the fading sun, until he goes limp and their bodies separate.</p><p>Rey burrows into his embrace, trails languid kisses over his neck and shoulder. Questing fingers trace the moles of his chest. His mother once called them markings of good fortune. In those long, painful years, he thought them a cruel joke of fate.</p><p>But if they have brought him here, lying in the afterglow of his lovemaking with the goddess Mercury, then perhaps his mother was right. Luck came later; he merely had to die first. This moment alone was worth all the suffering that preceded it.</p><p>“No, it isn’t,” she says sharply. Perhaps she can see into his mind, sense his thoughts as though they were her own? “No bounty could ever suffice to make up for what you have experienced.” She leans closer and slants her mouth over his once more. This time, her lips are firm, insistent yet every brush is gentle and tender. He moans into her kiss. </p><p>“Pleasure is not a reward for suffering,” Rey murmurs against his lips. “I wanted you, and you wanted love.”</p><p>Sunset paints their skin as they lie in the grass of Elysium. Few words pass between them. But Ben is content merely to lay here with Rey in his arms, dropping occasional kisses into her hair (now gloriously unbound and wild), her nose, her cheeks, and especially her lips.</p><p>Until the dark descends.</p><p>Her eyes, once sparkling, now grow lacklustre. She winds a hand in his hair, and presses a gentle kiss to his lips.</p><p>“It is time.”</p><p>They dress each other slowly, mourning every inch of skin covered when only moments earlier their sweat slicked bodies had been entwined. And Ben knows that soon they will have to part.</p><p>This would always have been the case; but before, he had not tasted her kiss, not known love and wanting and rapture in his arms. These halcyon memories will have to sustain him for the rest of eternity. </p><p>As she takes his hand for the final time, Rey cannot meet his eyes. Deep down, he had feared that this was but a game to her; using the occasional mortal for a moment of pleasure en route to the ferryman. </p><p>Pathetically, he would have been grateful simply to have been used by her.</p><p>But the piteousness in her demeanor, the evaporation of her earlier confidence… their joining <em> meant </em> something to her, as it did to him. And now they must part.</p><p>He tries to content himself with the knowledge that he will see his mother and father once more; and so many others. Finn and Poe, his boyhood friends. Lor, his tutor. Rose and Paige, who would climb onto the roof with him and watch over the Saturnalia festivities when all three ought to have been abed, much to the chagrin of their parents. Even Uncle Luke. </p><p>There is a village waiting for him at the end of the River Styx. </p><p>Even if it means trading the goddess who in a few short hours has become his entire world.</p><p>They walk a few steps in silence before Ben stops suddenly. </p><p>“I don’t have an obol,” he says flatly. For who would forgo their hard-earned coin to allow a slave to pay Charon and pass onto the afterlife?</p><p>Rey shakes her head sadly. “No, my love. You do not.”</p><p>“What…” his throat grows dry. “What happens to those who cannot pay the fare?”</p><p>Why he asks, he does not know. The tales of the afterlife leave no ambiguity. Those without the obol cannot cross to the afterlife just yet. They must wander the shore of the river, watch generations pass on Charon’s boat, until one hundred years have passed, with all of the other unloved and unwanted souls. </p><p>Plenty of whom will be the self-same souls whose lives he ended in the arena.</p><p>And Ben had thought that saying goodbye to Rey would be the last pain he would ever experience (even if it was to be the greatest agony of his existence).</p><p>Gentle fingers cup his chin, and lift his gaze to meet hers. Her beautiful eyes glisten; and those soft, luscious lips are pulled into a frown. </p><p>“You will wait, but eventually, you will be granted your passage.”</p><p>The air grows chill; Ben feels gooseflesh prickle his exposed arms. Even Rey shivers slightly. Clouds swirl overhead, and he hears the slow rumble of thunder in the distance.</p><p>“It seems my Uncle grows impatient with us,” Rey says. Once again, she talks of the Lord of the Underworld with the same chagrin he had reserved for his own Uncle Luke. “He does not like to be kept waiting.” She reaches for both his hands, and rubs her thumbs over his knuckles in slow circles. </p><p>But still they stand together in the grass. Rey bites her lip, and shows no signs of wanting to continue their journey.</p><p>Ben tugs her close, rests his cheek and upon the crown of her head. Her hair smells of sweat and flowers, and something unmistakably feminine. He savours every second of this, of her. “We can’t stay here forever, Rey,” he murmurs. “All mortals must die; and the dead must pass into Hades. This is the way.” Lips brush against hers in a tender kiss, with none of the passion of their earlier joining, nor the desperation of their inevitable parting.</p><p>“Well, fuck that,” she says. </p><p>As if in response, the wind howls and moans its rage, chilling Ben to the very bone.</p><p>Rey nestles closer into his embrace; even over the growing storm, he hears a muffled sob against his armour. </p><p>“Tell me, Ben Solo,” she says after a moment, her voice thick and clogged with tears. “If you had a choice… would you stay with me?”</p><p>The answer is simple, unequivocal and <em> painful. </em>“I would, Rey. Never doubt that.”</p><p>She nods, and lifts her head. Even as tear tracks dry on her cheeks, there is iron in her gaze. “You would shake the stars in defiance of the very rules of nature?”</p><p>“For you?” He frees his right hand from her grasp, and cups her cheek. “I would do anything.” </p><p>She mimics the gesture. “Even if it meant never seeing your parents again?”</p><p>In dark, cold nights, dreams of his parents had been a comfort. Dreams of reuniting with them in the afterlife, of his father ruffling his hair, his mother cupping his cheeks. Their gentle teasing, their love… </p><p>But, as he looks into Rey’s eyes, he sees love of a different kind. </p><p>The notion is ridiculous. A goddess, loving him, wanting him? This scarred mess of a man, a killer, a slave… and yet she looks upon him as something precious. </p><p>“Why, Rey? I am nothing.”</p><p>Her lips quirk into a smile. “Not to me. <em> Never </em>to me.” She lifts his hand to her lips. “The choice is yours, Ben Solo. I will respect your decision.”</p><p>
  <em> No matter how much it will pain me to let you go… </em>
</p><p>The thought passes from her mind to hers, and that beautiful flush stains her cheeks once more. Jove’s daughter, a powerful goddess in her own right, is <em> blushing </em>like a maiden - for him.</p><p>What other choice could he make?</p><p>So Ben leans forward, and seals his decision with a kiss.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>You will not find their tale written, except in the most obscure of scrolls. But there are those who whisper the story of a goddess, and her beloved gladiator. The one defied the King of the Gods on Capitoline Hill, who stole a soul from the Lord of the Underworld. Who lay with her lover on the Fields of Elysium, and who dances with him among the stars. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading.</p><p>This is also my first ever published smut... *runs and hides*</p></blockquote></div></div>
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